The Mysterious Three Part 32

He made a quick little gesture of impatience.

"Oh, I don't mean congratulations of that kind," he said quickly. "I shouldn't ask you to waste your time in congratulating me upon anything so commonplace as an engagement of marriage. I want you to congratulate me upon something you don't yet know."

"Well, what is it?" I said impatiently. "Have you come into a fortune?"

"Right the very first time!" he exclaimed. "Yes, I have. I've inherited, quite unexpectedly, a very large fortune. But the odd thing is this. My benefactor is, or rather was, unknown to me. Until yesterday I had never even heard his name."

"How wonderful! But how splendid!" I cried out. "Do tell me more about it. Tell me everything."

"I will. And now prepare to receive a shock. The will leaving me this fortune was found in the safe discovered among the debris of Chateau d'Uzerche, after the fire?"

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

A FURTHER TANGLE.

Certainly, this was a most remarkable development. I listened without comment.

Yet when Faulkner had given me, at the luncheon table, all the details by way of "explanation," as he put it, the tangle seemed even greater than before he had begun.

The will, dated three years previously, had been drawn up by a well-known firm of London lawyers. It was quite in order, and the testator's name was Whichelo, Samuel Whichelo, formerly of Mexico City, merchant, but then resident at Wimbledon Common. The testator, who had been unmarried, left a few legacies to friends and servants, but practically the whole of his fortune he bequeathed entirely to Frank Faulkner, "in return for the considerable service he once rendered me."

Faulkner had handed me a copy of the will--it was quite a short will.

When I came to this sentence I naturally looked up.

"Ah!" I said, "then there is a method in the testator's madness. But I thought you told me you had never even heard his name."

"Until yesterday I never had heard it."

"Then what was this `considerable service' he says you rendered him?"

"Well, I'll tell you," he said. "Years ago, when I was knocking about the world--I was then about twenty--I chanced to find myself, one night, in the China Town of San Francisco. I had a friend with me, about my own age. Foolishly, we were exploring at night, alone--that is, without an interpreter or guide of any sort, which is about as risky a thing as any ordinary unarmed European can do in San Francisco, where you may still, I believe, find the sc.u.m of all the nations. Suddenly we heard a cry. A man was calling, `_Au secours! Au secours_!' Without stopping to think, I rushed in the direction whence the cry came. It was repeated. It was in a house which I recognised, at a glance, as an establishment of doubtful repute. I must tell you that when I was twenty I was considered a first-rate boxer, and it may have been the confidence I felt in my ability to defend myself that made me rush, without hesitation, into that Chinese den. Cards and chits were scattered about the tables and on the floor, and nine or ten Chinamen were in the room, struggling furiously with a tall, dark man of powerful build, who was being rapidly overcome owing to the number of his a.s.sailants. Chinese oaths were flying about freely, and I saw a knife-blade flash suddenly into the air."

He paused for a second, then continued--

"My blood was up. I felt as I feel sometimes now, that I didn't care for anything or any one or what might happen to me. I rushed at the nearest Chinaman like a maniac--I believe he thought I was one. My first blow knocked him silly. Then, right and left I hit out. I was in perfect condition at that time. Down went the Chinamen one after another, as my blows caught them on the chin--I used to be famous for that chin-blow, I `specialised' in it, so to speak. I detest boasting.

I tell this only to you, because I think it may amuse you and explain my windfall. In less than two minutes I had stretched five of the Chinamen senseless with that chin-blow, and the remaining three or four, seized with panic, fled."

"What then?" I asked.

"At once I led the man who had called for help out into the street. I saw he was pretty badly hurt, so with the help of my friend, who had now joined me again, I got him out of China Town, expecting to be set upon at any moment by friends of those Chinamen, thirsting for revenge.

Though he had called `_Au secours_!' he was not French, it seemed. He was British Portuguese, though he lived in Mexico, he told me later. We got him to the hospital. `I must have your name--I must have your name,' he exclaimed quite excitedly, as I was leaving, I remember. `You have rendered me a service I shall never forget--never. You must come and see me to-morrow.' I told him I could not do that, as I was leaving early next morning for Raymund, on my way to the Yosemite Valley. But I said I hoped we might meet again some day, and, as he insisted upon my doing so, I gave him a card with my address--my London club address. It was at the club that I found, yesterday morning, the communication from his lawyers."

"And by Gad!" I exclaimed enthusiastically, "you deserve this `bit of luck,' as you call it, Frank. I think you acted splendidly!"

"Oh, for Heaven's sake don't become emotional, old chap," he said hurriedly. "If you knew how I hate gush, you wouldn't."

"It isn't gush," I answered. "What wouldn't I have given to see you buckling up those Chinamen one after another. Splendid!"

I turned to Violet.

"I congratulate you," I said, taking her hand, "on marrying a real man.

I think the two of you are the pluckiest pair I have ever met. It will be long before I forget that incident on the roof of Chateau d'Uzerche.

But for you, neither Frank nor I would be alive to-day."

"Nor the Baronne, nor Dago Paulton," she added mischievously. "Oh, yes, I am a heroine! A heroine to save such very precious lives!"

"Are you not grateful to the Baronne?" I asked quickly. "After all, she did adopt you, and bring you up."

"Yes," the girl answered, with a swift, reproachful glance, "she adopted me and brought me up, but only that I might help to further her own ends. She didn't adopt me out of affection, I can a.s.sure you."

I saw that I had again trodden upon thin ice, so I quickly changed the topic.

"But the great mystery," I said, addressing Faulkner, "is not yet solved. How on earth did Whichelo's will, leaving you this fortune, come to be in the safe in Chateau d'Uzerche, in the Ba.s.ses Alpes? When did Whichelo die?"

"Four months ago. The lawyers distinctly remember him making a will, but he had never returned it to them, and, since his death, they had been trying to find it. They even advertised for it."

"To whom would his fortune have gone, had he died intestate?" I inquired suddenly.

"To his younger brother, Henry. From what the lawyers tell me, this brother of his must be a peculiar man. His life appears to be a mystery. He is, however, known to be intimate with your friend, Sir Charles Thorold. Sir Charles and he were in Mexico together ten years ago, the lawyers tell me, and were there again about three years ago."

"Who are the lawyers who wrote to you?" something prompted me to ask.

"You mean about the will? Oh, a firm in Lincoln's Inn, Spink and Peters."

Instantly I thought of old Taylor.

"Ah," I said, "I have heard of them. Thorold has had some business dealings with them. By the way--who opened the safe?"

"The French police. It seems, that since the fire, neither Dago Paulton nor the Baronne de Coudron have shown any signs of life. Even the insurance people have not been written to by them."

"Paulton and the Baronne are probably afraid of being arrested," I said at once.

We talked a little longer, but Faulkner seemed unable to throw any further light on the mystery of the will being found in the safe, and the lawyers were equally in the dark. Probably they would never have heard of the will had the French police not communicated with them.

"Oh, I have another bit of news for you," Faulkner said suddenly. "Sir Charles Thorold is to return to Houghton."

"My father going back to Houghton!" Vera exclaimed, amazed. "Why, who told you that? I've heard nothing of it."

"Read it in the newspaper this morning," Faulkner answered. "I have the paper here--in my pocket."

He tugged out of his coat-pocket a copy of a morning paper, unfolded it, and presently found the announcement.

"There it is," he said, pa.s.sing the paper to her, with his finger on the paragraph.

The announcement ran as follows--

"We are able to state that Sir Charles and Lady Thorold have decided to return to their country residence, Houghton Park, in Rutland, which has been vacant since the mysterious affair when the body of Sir Charles'

butler was discovered in the lake at Houghton, and the chauffeur from Oakham was shot dead by an unknown a.s.sa.s.sin. The news is creating considerable interest throughout the county."